The Glory of the Garden
by myfoodisnotshared
Summary: Narcissa wanted only to serve the Dark Lord. Regulus couldn't help but worship Narcissa. How silly, how tragic, for two such people to walk the garden together.


The Glory of the Garden

_Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,_

_Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,_

_With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;_

_But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye._

History of England (1911) "The Glory of the Garden"

Regulus Arcturus Black had everything but age.

He was pure-blood, seeker, Slytherin, a slug club member. Of course, he wasn't as beautiful as his brother - for Sirius, though scum, was beautiful - but he was handsome enough. And he was _smart, _so wonderfully intelligent, with those soft dark eyes that saw and analysed everything, the mind that absorbed knowledge as the one true source of power, just as she did.

If he had been older, her own year group instead of three below, she would have had him and then forgotten about him, let him take her to Hogsmeade then dumped him. The fact that they were cousins meant nothing to her. As it was she was aware of him for years, aware of his ambitious brilliance, of his sharp wit, but he was always far too young for her to even think of dating. When she reached her last year he was in his fourth, and she adopted him in a way, taught him things. How to restructure an essay to boost his marks, the best shortcuts between the library and the common room so he could sneak down with her at night, the dark spells they weren't taught in classrooms. She whispered to him of the Dark Lord, he whispered back of his fever to join him. Young, but so eager, and so easy to mold.

When she graduated they drifted apart, but every week she would owl him, to ask of his passion. And every reply would be more fevered than the last, more eloquent and more educated. He talked of Grindelwald and compared him with the Dark Lord, could see how He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was infinitely more suited to the task of cleansing Wizarding Britain of diluted and unworthy bloodlines. He wrote of the muggles squalor, and at first the almost sympathetic way he had talked had worried her - but it had not taken much to turn the paths of his thoughts, to show him the light of their Lord's thinking.

_To her Lady Narcissa Black, _he had written, always aware of the customs that surrounded her - their - fine heritage. _I have reviewed the works you have sent me and find myself entirely mistaken in my views. I had perceived the traditional view of muggles to be wrong only because I thought it did not acknowledge their intelligence - now I see that all fine Wizards of good mind, such as yourself and our Lord, do understand them to be thinking creatures. But what self-destruction! What brutality! I see now the circles of poverty and suffering they form for themselves, the inhumane ways in which they torture their fellow-men and then are surprised when they are overthrown in a wave of bloodshed. I understand, I welcome the fact that this cannot go on and that the solution is such a clear one. Only when every muggle bends knee to the Wizarding race can they be controlled, helped, for even a single rogue muggle child would bring terror to both of our worlds._

His letters had enchanted her with their faith in the Dark Lord and their adoration of her - for every word, every line was a praise of her values, her pure-blood, her intelligence. Never did he mention that shallow beauty that she was Queen of, for he knew she was so much more, and loved her for it. Yes, he loved her - loved her like she was the sun and the source of all things. Only when he was sixteen and she nineteen did she realise - in a way - she loved him back.

Educated and beautiful and stuck in limbo, his adventures became her lifeblood. Her betrothed, Lucius Malfoy, was climbing his way up into the inner circle of Death Eaters and often talked to her of his experiences, but his letters did not fill her with the excitement Regulus's did. When her cousin described his initiation, the feeling of kneeling at the feet of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, she could almost see the dimly lit chamber and hear their master's voice, the blessed agony of the Mark tying him forever to Lord Voldermort. For two years she had not seen him, but she knew him, truly knew him as the man she had made him into.

When he visited her, he didn't disappoint - no longer a raw, bright fourteen year old, he was now collected, charming and almost seventeen. It was a completely different thing, there was confidence in his step, pride in his eyes and by God she felt butterflies that almost, almost made her feel weak at the knees. She was staying with Mrs Malfoy whilst her parents visited abroad, and she had convinced Lucius that Regulus was, with his fine Black lineage and incredible mind, a very good friend to make among the Death Eater ranks. Lucius had liked Regulus, he invited him round to his house. He never guessed at the depth of her feelings for her cousin.

"Will you walk with me, in the garden?" She had asked, after dinner that first night. She had felt his eyes on her all evening, watching, always watching. But she had barely looked at him, had been no more than civil - had not given him the attention she craved to give. He was her connection to the Dark Lord, stronger than that she gained through Bellatrix who had no time for her, stronger than that she had through Lucius who had no imagination - and she was mad for him.

"Of course," he said, rising. "My cousin Narcissa has promised to show me around your grounds, Mrs Malfoy - she tells me they're some of the finest in all Wizarding Britain."

"Some of?" Mrs Malfoy asked, one eyebrow raised. But it was clear she had already fallen for the Black charm, and smiled softly. "They are _the _finest grounds around, no expense has been spared. Go, look around - but you must go down again in the morning, to see them when the sun is shining."

"I wouldn't dream of not going," he said, then she led him out of the room.

He tried to make conversation, but she was silent, warded him off. She had seen and admired his power in society, his graceful talk about nothing. She had listened to him discuss foreign affairs with the much older and more experienced Lucius, and hold his own without offending. Now she wanted her unpolished boy back again, honest and real - she wanted the Regulus who proclaimed the Lord to be the be the most powerful wizard of all time simply because he was, not for the politics of it.

"Show it to me," she said, the moment they were out of the doors, still hidden in an archway. "Show me your Dark Mark."

He smiled, a fevered smile, and with quick, deft movements rolled up his sleeve. It glistened against his skin. It was so beautiful, so dark, the lines twisted around each other, forming the signature snake that so often branded itself above the homes of the unworthy. She took hold of his arm, careful not to touch it, and brought it close to her face.

"You can kiss it, if you want," he said, his voice high and nervous like the teenager he was. "That won't activate it."

And she did, pressing her warm lips to the cool of the Mark, kissing the serpen'ts split tongue, ignoring the sound of happiness Regulus made. This moment wasn't about him, it was about her, and the absolute _devotion_ she had to the Dark Lord. She had never been so close to a Dark Mark before.

"Tell me again about him," she said, "anything you can say."

"Well I- I only met him the once," he said uneasily, and she gave him a sharp look. She had taught him better than to stutter. "It was beyond an experience though… the way he talked, Cissy, his voice! He walked past us as we knelt, with half of all the Death Eaters behind us, and talked of how we must replace the Wizengamot with true purebloods. He was so bold, so certain that his ambition would be completed; not for one moment did he hesitate. And when he came to Marking us, he took my arm in his own grip to ink in the snake and skull… It burnt, as Lucius had warned me, yes, but his hands were so cool. I closed my eyes and thought of a pure Wizarding Britain and barely made a sound."

He grinned at her, and she was impressed, though she knew that if she were to take the Mark she would do it with a smile on her mouth and her eyes fully open. She knew it in her gut that, if her father would only permit her to join the ranks, she would be a true and loyal servant.

They walked out into the garden, and he touched her arm to draw her attention to the peacock, pale against the green grass and ever-flowering red roses. He didn't remove his arm as expected but left it there, threaded through hers, and she leant on him as they wandered through the paths and talked of the other members of the Death Eater circles. Though his parents were honourable purebloods, they never could introduce their son to society - as ever, Regulus was a victim of his age, the younger son, and so didn't know any of his fellow brothers-in-arms. If only Sirius had not been the lowly character he was, the Black name would have been respected and not laughed at in the best societies.

When she promised to introduce him to Bellatrix, his whole face shone with joy, and she inwardly congratulated herself. This was how things should be - duty before self. "Regulus, do you ever think of your death? We will all die one day."

He smiled at her, and with his free hand caressed her cheek, turning a strand of her blonde hair over and over in his warm hands before tucking it behind her ear. She shivered with pleasure, but not because he was handsome and they were alone and she was new to this, because she could still see the Dark Mark blazing on his wrist.

"Never," he whispered, reverently. "I know what I want from life. I know what I want from death. I doubt I'll achieve either, but I wouldn't change my idea of heaven for anything."

It didn't occur to her for another three years that his eyes had burned into her because she was that heaven. The reason was simple, dark - she thought his love for her was like her love for him, a worship of sorts, of the one true Dark Lord. When she reached for his neck, slipped her hand into his hair, kissed him, it was an expression of passion. Not an act of one, however intimate they got that night, or any of the nights and afternoons and snatched moments after that - but an expression of the fever they both had for a new, better future.

It was a secret, what they did in praise of Him. And it was _glorious._

**A/N: SHOULD I CONTINUE?**

**If enough people follow this fic, I'll turn it into a 2/3 shot. If they don't I'll leave it like this.**

**Please review to make me very, very, very happy! Of course I love long reviews most of all, but if you could just spare the time to write 'I liked it' that would be a lot lovelier than nothing at all.**

**Thanks guys!**


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